David Mamet is unquestionably one of the heavy-hitters of contemporary theatre, and perhaps even contemporary literature as a whole. Over the past 30 years his name has become synonymous with a kind of stylized writing that is carefully, artfully structured in order to seem natural. If you find that characterization contradictory, imagine him as the verbal and aural equivalent of Impressionist painting. If a friend describes something as “like Mamet,” he means that the characters speak in short, powerful bursts, each overlapping and interrupting each other to create a sort of haze of words from which slips every now and then a slash of beauty.